


Anything Can Happen (On Halloween)

by visiblemarket



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Implied homophobia, M/M, Pre-Relationship, but not pre drunk makeouts, drunk makeouts, it be like that sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: It feels like a hundred times, that they've done this — drinking at the end of a job, to celebrate or forget; a fight at a bar, to get John's blood going; and then this sloppily sincere affection, the kind John'd balk at sober. John’ll cuddle up next to him on the bed, nuzzle at Chas’ neck, and kiss his face. Chas’ll turn his head and kiss him back, as John runs his fingers through Chas’ hair and Chas runs his hands up and down along John’s spine.





	Anything Can Happen (On Halloween)

**Author's Note:**

> Post “The Rage of Caliban”, in theory.

 “Hey."

 “Oh, hello,” says John, tipping his head back. “Pulled yourself together, then?"

 He has to laugh. “Something like that,” he says, and looks John over: he’s sprawled across the hood of the pickup, for some reason; he’s also smoking, but that’ll never be surprising. “What are you doing?" 

“Waitin’ for you to show up."

 “Here?"

 John grins and blows smoke at him. “Where else?"

 Chas shakes his head. “I don’t know, John. Maybe _in_  the truck?"

 "Don’t like it when I smoke _in_ the truck, do you?” 

 As if that’s ever stopped him. “C’mon,” he says. "Let’s get going."

 John throws him a swift, strangely amused look, and sits up. “Where to, mate?"

 “Back to the mill house, I guess,” Chas says, rubbing the back of his neck — fuck, he’s tired.

 “Could do that, yeah. Could be back before midnight, I bet, if you drive all night."

 Chas holds back a sigh. “Or?"

 “ _Or_ ,” John trills. “ _Or_  we could stay the night. Get ourselves a drink, full night’s sleep, head back in the mornin'.” 

 “John—"

 John clambers off the truck’s hood and straight into Chas’ space. “What d’you say, mate? Take a break. Be a bit irresponsible, yeah?"

 Chas’s not quite sure he’s in the mood for John’s particular brand of irresponsibility — drinking too much, picking bar fights, getting thrown out on his ass when he overdoes both. 

 “Just a coupla drinks, Chas,” John says, apparently sensing Chas’s hesitation.

 He’s heard that one before: _Just a couple of drinks, Chas_. _Won’t stay out too late, Chas_. _Have you back to the missus ‘fore she even knows you’re gone, Chas_ ; that one in particular had worked out great, really. 

 Chas sighs. “All right,” he says, though he should know better. “Just a couple of drinks." 

*

They’re just a couple of drinks in, and John’s already buzzed — they should’ve ordered something to eat, Chas realizes. He's worked in enough bars to know better than to eat the food unless it’s absolutely necessary but perhaps, in this case, it was. 

Today, John’s a happy drunk, which isn't entirely unheard of, though it’s rare enough to be vaguely unnerving. John becomes particularly hands-on when he’s like this, for one: resting his chin on Chas’ shoulder, rubbing his palm up Chas’ thigh. Kissing Chas’ neck, every few minutes, as if he’s forgotten he’s done it before.

 “You’re in a good mood,” Chas says, suspecting it’s a mistake.

 “Well mate,” he says, pressing another kiss under Chas’ ear. “Been a _rather_ good day, yeah? Sent a dark soul packin’. Saved a boy’s life, and his parents with him. And you…"

“Me?” Chas says, turning his head like an idiot. John kisses him, swift and sloppy. Curls his hands around the back of Chas’ neck, and brushes their noses together before he pulls away.

“You,” he says, smug, and leaves it there, with a quick grin.

 “Uh, fellas?” 

Chas looks up. John doesn’t, at first: gives Chas another quick peck, even as the bartender’s eye twitches nervously. 

“It’s not like, a personal thing or anythin’, but like — this ain’t that kind of bar?"

John pulls back. “What _precisely_ d’you mean by that?” 

“Sir—"

“Bloke over there’s got his hand up his girl’s skirt, did you go over there an’ tell  _them_ it _ain’t that kinda bar_?"

 “Sir—"

 “Don’t _sir_ me, chief, I—"

 “ _John_ ,” Chas warns, tries to grab him by the front of his shirt, keep him from standing up. No dice — John slips away from him, wavers slightly once on his feet, and sticks his index finger out into the bartender’s face. 

“Not bloody personal, is it? Got nothin’ against it, yeah? That mean one of you…” he goes wide, loud enough to be noticed by the dense, distracted crowd — “Which one of you  _ruddy_ bastards—"

 “ _John_ ,” he says, and surges up. Grabs John’s arms, turns John towards him. “ _Leave it_."

John glowers at him for a moment, and then huffs. Rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says, generally — directed at the room as a whole, Chas’d guess, as are the twin gestures John flips before stalking his way out.

Chas sighs, and picks up John’s coat as he does. Glances at the bartender, who shrinks away from his gaze. “Out of curiosity,” Chas says, low, doing his best to loom over the guy for a moment. “What kinda bar _did_  you mean?"

He gulps, and Chas has to hold back a laugh. Shakes his head instead, drops a few spare bills on the table — just about enough to cover the tab, at least. “Night,” Chas says, throws him a half-hearted wave, and goes.  

*

John’s waiting for him outside, smoking again — reaches out to snatch his coat of Chas’ hand, then scowls at him. “Didn’t bloody tip the bastard, did you?" 

Chas shakes his head. 

“Christ,” John fumes, shoving his arms into his coat and shaking his head. “Shoulda let me —"

“What? Pick a fight and get your ass dragged to jail? _Again_?"

John huffs. “Got a problem with that?"

“We’re low on bail money,” Chas points out, which is the least of it — John doesn’t do well in jail, and Chas doesn’t do well trying to get him out.

John rolls his eyes, but steps up to him, eases into Chas’ space. “Should be able t' kiss you whenever the hell I want,” says John, reaching out: grasps at Chas’ jacket collar, tilts his head up. “Long as you want me to, anyway," he concedes, dropping his gaze for a moment. Looks up again, suddenly doubtful; he's much less guarded when he's drunk, and Chas feels almost ashamed of having noticed it. "You do want me to, yeah?"

“Yeah,” Chas says. It's true, he does, he likes it when John kisses him, when John makes him feel present and wanted and necessary. It makes it easier to believe he’s doing a good thing, sticking around to take care of John. Not that John  _really_ needs him, of course. But sometimes he lets Chas pretend, and those are good days. 

John leans up, pulls Chas down, and presses their mouths together: soft and sweet, quick and sure. Smiles, smug, as he drops back onto his heels. 

Chas swallows a sigh. “C’mon,” he says, and goes to turn around. John doesn’t let him, at first, slides his hands down to the ends of Chas’ jacket and gives him a little tug.

“Ooh, _c’mon,”_ John teases. “C’mon where, love?"

_To the hotel_ , is the answer, but he knows what John’s response to that will be — not the exact words but the shape of them — and doesn’t want to give him the opening. John grins like he’s found it anyway, and Chas just shakes his head and walks away, knowing John’ll follow. 

*

It feels like a hundred times, that they've done this — drinking at the end of a job, to celebrate or forget; a fight at a bar, to get John's blood going; and then this sloppily sincere affection, the kind John'd balk at sober. John’ll cuddle up next to him on the bed, nuzzle at Chas’ neck, and kiss his face. Chas’ll turn his head and kiss him back, as John runs his fingers through Chas’ hair and Chas runs his hands up and down along John’s spine.  

It’s simple, easy, pleasant — feels good, to have anyone that close, and for it to be John kissing him, John wanting him…as long as Chas doesn’t let himself think about it, it’s wonderful. And, for a while, he doesn’t; and, for a while, it is.

Even once he remembers what a bad idea it is, to be making out with John on a single bed, he doesn’t put a stop to it right away. Knows he should, but also knows it’s a balance. John’ll only go so far on his own and Chas will hold him off where it counts, when it matters.

When Chas was married, it was easier: they never went this far, never got beyond fond, drunk nuzzling and long nights in separate beds. Now they share, more often than not, so John can straddle his hips, and kiss his mouth. John does both, grinding down on him, breathing into him, and then pulls back.

“I want you,” John murmurs, leaning in to flick the tip of his tongue against Chas’ upper lip.

And there it is, Chas thinks: where it counts, and when it matters.

“Talk to me when you’re sober,” he says.

 John groans and rolls off Chas, throwing himself dramatically on the mattress. “Every _bloody_  time, mate."

Which is fair. But he knows how this goes, as much as John does: John’ll settle eventually, curl up against Chas’ shoulder. They’ll fall asleep together, and wake up the next day like nothing ever happened. 

“Not desperate, y’know?” says John, annoyed. “Could go back out, find myself someone to go home with."

“I’m not stopping you.” Chas says that sometimes, though not often. Sometimes John takes him up on it, then calls Chas at six in the morning to come fetch him from wherever he’s ended up. 

Tonight, John just frowns, and turns back toward him. Gives him a long, steady look, and then his expression shifts. Softens, even. “You ever been with a bloke, mate?"

“I’ve been with _you_ ,” he says, quick and defensive — once or twice, when he was younger, dumber, and full of….eagerness to please.

John rolls his eyes. “A quick wank in the backseat of a car’s barely a  _favor_ , mate, it’s not — doesn’t — don’t bloody count, all right?"

“Then, no,” Chas says.

“No? No what?"

“No, I haven’t been with a _bloke_.” 

John huffs — not amused by Chas’ attempt to mimic his accent, probably — but reaches out to him again. Runs his fingers through Chas’ hair, gives Chas another soft look. “Shame, that,” he says, and rolls over.

Chas waits for a moment, still and uncertain, until John huffs, reaches back, and pulls Chas’ arm around his waist.  

“‘night, John,” he says, cautiously, but finds himself kissing the back of John’s neck after he does. 

John mumbles something, low and vague: could’ve been _good night_ or _sod off_ about as easily, though one is more likely than the other.

Chas has to laugh, and does. Curls up against John’s back, takes a breath, and shuts his eyes.

*

When he opens them again, it’s morning. The sun is up, and so is John: in his arms, turned toward him again. Hair mussed, forehead furrowed. Eyes dark and unfocused, even as he slides his arms around Chas’ waist, and presses up against his chest. “‘morning,” John drawls, and leans up.  

John tastes like a bad decision, wrapped in a hangover, dropped in an ashtray. But his hand on Chas’ cheek is warm, and the kiss itself is — better than it should be. Soft, and careful. John’s tongue flicks lightly at Chas’ and then retreats, willing to wait for Chas to return the gesture. 

Chas does, after a moment. Tries to ignore the taste, and mostly manages. 

Another moment, and he pulls back.

“John?” he says, and John smiles. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, curling his fingers over Chas’ ear. 

“What’re you—“

John kisses him again, swift but gentle, almost like he can’t help it. “Sober as judge, me,” he breathes, barely pulling away to speak. "An’ I still want you. No accountin’ for taste, I s’ppose.” Chas gives a surprised laugh, and John grins, nuzzles their noses together. “So how 'bout it, then?”

He should say no; he knows better, has always known better, has rarely wavered. Shouldn’t pretend otherwise, even for one second, especially for an entire morning, which is how this is likely to turn out.

And yet...John is smiling. He's warm, and happy, and eager. Looking at Chas like he's maybe even glad he's there. 

“Yeah,” Chas finds himself saying, wrapping a hand around the back of John’s neck, and smiling back as John winks. “Yeah, why not?"

 *

**Author's Note:**

> As always pls validate me and/or pls come say hi on the [tumblrs.com](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/).


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